


Drowning in the Disarray

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Day 25, Gen, I THINK I'LL COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE THANKS, Illnesses, Injury, POV Sam Winchester, Ringing Ears, Sam Winchester Whump, Whump, Whumptober 2020, blurred vision, disorientation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Sam is hit in the head during a hunt.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Kudos: 65
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Drowning in the Disarray

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020
> 
> No 25. I THINK I'LL COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS
> 
> Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

Sam’s ears rang as he tried to unceremoniously clamber to his feet. The ground seemed to shift beneath him, the world being painted like a Van Gogh painting. It wasn’t as if everything was swirling. But he just wasn’t perceiving it correctly. Everything was wrong.

And god, his head hurt. It throbbed, seeming to dig all the way inside his skull to his brain.

Sam managed to get to his hands and knees. Castiel and Dean fought near him, and the werewolf who’d been probably eyeing Sam as his next meal was dragged away by the angel.

When Sam tried to stand again, everything blurred. He slammed into a wall, and tried to use it to hold himself up. He angled his legs, feet outward to create an angle against the wall with his body. The force of it kept him up, and left him with less work to do.

The ringing subsided, but turned into a buzzing, and through that, his blood was roaring in his ears.

Dean screamed.

Castiel yelled.

The meaty smack of punches barely registered, but Sam was horribly aware when the werewolves were shot with silver. He cried out at the incisive, roaring bangs that sent pain punching into his head. Now his ears rang from the gunshots.

Sam wondered if bodies hit the floor. And he wondered if Dean and Cas were coming to save him from this hell in his body.

The world blurred, and the edges of his vision throbbed with black. Sam groaned as he slid down the wall, and landed hard on his ass. Fuck, he didn’t feel good.

It wasn’t long before his body was taken over with violent shuddering, the energy being stolen from him. Even his breaths were stolen.

And then he was leaning to the side and throwing up.

Sam let out a tearless sob, and forced himself to lean back away from the vomit.

Then hands were on him.

In his haze, Sam didn’t recognize them, and he tried to shove them away. They gripped more firmly.

Hands were on his cheeks, and then his forehead. The fingers slid in something hot.

Oh, was he bleeding?

Sam got his vision to cooperate for enough seconds to see Dean and Castiel in front of him. Their mouths moved. They were talking to him. Sam’s ears continued to ring.

His world went black.

Sam woke up in something that was moving, an engine of some sort purring beneath him.

He moaned at the way the motion mercilessly shifted his head, pain radiating down to his neck, even around his forehead to his face. Sam threw up again, and luckily a bucket had been placed near his head.

The scents of leather and whiskey and gun powder permeated the air.

The purring grew louder, as if something was accelerating.

Sam had to push against the seat in front of him so he wouldn’t fall. He laid his head back down, and as the world began to make a bit more sense, he realized he was in the Impala.

“It’s okay, Sammy. We’re getting you to a hospital,” Dean assured.

“Cas?” Sam asked.

“I’m… all out of juice,” Castiel answered.

That nearly brought tears to Sam’s eyes. The pain was so intense, and the way the world seemed unreal and incorporeal around him, ephemeral, was enough to make him wish for the blankness of unconsciousness. But instead he swayed where he lay in the backseat of the Impala, his head ached, and the world spun around him.

Sam didn’t know how long the drive to the hospital had taken, but Castiel had found a wheelchair, and now Sam was being rushed into the ER.

Maybe they’d waited. Maybe they’d gotten him in immediately.

Sam couldn’t focus his eyes. All he really knew was that the waiting room had had a lot of brown in it, and now the room he was in was too white. The light blinded him, and left him groaning in pain.

Someone was patting his chest, and another gripped his shin, an attempt at comfort.

Sam tried to focus his eyes, the action hurting him inside, and he saw Dean and Castiel, grimy and bloody from the fight. How had no one asked questions? Maybe they had. Maybe it was a wonder that they were even allowed in the room with Sam.

Sam vaguely remembered speaking, saying something. Could he possibly have assured the nurses that they hadn’t hurt him? That it was from something else?

Multiple people came in and out of the room. The blood that was now getting into his left eye, and drying like that, was cleaned off of him. The cut was sore, not sharp like most people probably thought it would be. But that was a bad sign. It meant it was deep. How deep? And how hurt was he really?

Someone in a white coat came in, Dean and Cas talked to him, and then Sam was helped into a wheelchair. He tried to reach out for Dean, not knowing what was happening. The exertion left his vision fuzzy, and he was wheeled away.

Sam was brought into a white room with a large machine in the middle of it. He was undressed, wanting to cry from how weak and helpless he was. And he just about started sobbing when he was forcibly tied into a hospital gown. Then he was laid down on the bed of the machine. They slid him in, whoever _they_ was — Sam still couldn’t discern it.

He was soon alone in the room.

And that was when the clanging started.

Sam groaned and wanted to get out of this machine, but something told him it was important he let it do its job. The doctor needed this information the machine could get.

The clanging turned into ringing, and then it seemed to never end.

Sam was unconscious again, not even realizing he’d been about to pass out, not even aware of the world around him.

When he awoke, he was tucked into the bed, Dean and Castiel there with him.

“You really scared us, man,” Dean said.

Sam realized he could talk, had somehow forgotten earlier that he had a mouth with which to communicate and interact with others, “What’s… wrong with me?”

“You have an extremely severe concussion,” Castiel answered. “And the doctor will be taking you to another technician to see if you have a traumatic brain injury. They’re unsure of the extent of the damage.”

“But you’ll take care of me?” Sam asked, not sure why he even had to ask such a thing.

Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Always.”


End file.
